


Of Chocolate Éclairs and Riding Crops

by turante



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Spanking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turante/pseuds/turante
Summary: Mycroft is on a diet, Anthea helps him take his mind off food.





	Of Chocolate Éclairs and Riding Crops

**Author's Note:**

> Well, written for this, anonimously at first, on the kinkmeme:  
> [](http://pics.livejournal.com/turante/pic/00002081/)

Mycroft gazed another time at his assistant. It was only Wednesday, that week was going to never end. 

But it was just as well. That week she was Anthea again for the world. 

Anthea tilted her blackberry and re-applied her lipstick, a warm sexy red shade Mycroft believed was called _“Extended Play”_. Then she dotted a bit of shiny lip gloss on her plush bottom lip and blew a kiss at her reflection. 

She uncrossed her legs and the tops of her stocking flashed, revealing black lace and naked skin. Too much for Mycroft’s comfort and yet not nearly enough at the same time. 

He picked at his tie, pulling it a bit looser – something that he hadn’t needed to do in a while – as he watched his PA get on her high heels wearing feet, striding to retrieve her coat from the rack. She put on the garment and closed it, finally concealing more of the soft, smooth, naked creamy flesh of her arms and neck and décolleté. 

Mycroft remembered how to breathe. 

Anthea took a little carton box from her desk and walked into the office through the open door. 

“I’m off to lunch, boss.” She said, a bit dreamily, then she put the white perfect box on his desk. “I bought you dessert today, I think it will lighten up your mood after last week’s _inconvenient_.” Her voice was smooth and amiable as if they had been talking about the weather instead of a catastrophe of international proportion. 

He smiled sincerely and accepted the sweet, reading the gold swirly inscription on the side that was the name of a fantastic French Pastry Bakery. 

Anthea left then, her heels clicking on the marble floor and her fingers typing rapidly on her smartphone.

Mycroft then decided to do his own lunch break too, and ate his salad. 

Then he took the white box and opened it. Inside, beside the most alluring chocolate éclair filled with Chantilly cream he had ever seen, there was a piece of his stationery with a postcode for London and a room number written on it in his PA’s handwriting.

He searched for CCTVs around that address (it turned out to be St Bartholomew’s Hospital) and found one in the room. The quality too good to be a regular surveillance camera because it allowed him to zoom in quite a bit. And it was in colour.

That's why he gave her such long lunch breaks, he thought as Anthea turned around and the other girl in the room lowered the back zip of her strapless dress, which slid down her body in a puddle of silk, revealing the most exciting lingerie. She turned to nibble and kiss her companion's lips, and Mycroft could see the back of her corset too. Then she finished undressing the other girl, until she was wearing only a pair of bright purple knickers made of lace.

Anthea turned and bent, silk knickers shifting over the perfect round shape of her ass, and she picked up a riding crop from the floor.

Mycroft was aware that she knew how to use it, too.

She turned it around her fingers, then played with it, using the end to caress the other girl's chest, going down along her breastbone, deviating on one round breast, playfully circling a nipple.

Mycroft saw the girl shiver once. 

She returned to the centre of her chest and then teased the other nipple. Afterwards she lowered the riding crop, lightly brushing the exposed skin – Mycroft had completely forgotten about the pastry, by the way – and over the thin lace, and finally down the inside of a creamy thigh. Anthea leaned close and whispered something in the other's ear, and the girl nodded and turned, bending herself over the desk, gripping the edge of it with her hands. Anthea kissed the back of her neck, left exposed by her sideway ponytail, and placed one hand on her hip.

Mycroft saw Anthea's other hand move and the girl flinch slightly at the impact on her thigh. His assistant whispered something else (really, why wasn't there a microphone as well?) in her ear and the girl spread her legs a bit wider.

Anthea's well manicured fingers slid under the waistband of the knickers, her nails were the same shade of red as her lips he noticed. Very soon the purple lace was in Anthea's fingers, and she tossed the bundle in the general direction of her bag; then she took a step back and placed the end of the crop on one sound buttock, drew back her arm and placed a gentle, playful blow that made the girl jump nonetheless.

Mycroft was completely unaware that he had been biting his lip for the past minute.

Anthea drew back her arm and landed a blow on the other cheek. She whispered something else and nibbled her ear, the girl arched back against the silk that still beautifully hid and enhanced Anthea's curves.

Another soft blow on the thigh, then Anthea moved away and hit the buttocks once, twice, three times each, careful to leave them a blushed pink before putting the riding crop down on the desk. Then she slapped the abused flesh and the girl with the ponytail arched against her touch.

Anthea’s hand then moved lower and between her legs, and Mycroft just wished to be able to zoom more, or to have access to sound, because her other hand was now covering the girl's mouth, her red tipped fingers disappearing behind white teeth that bit them, into a soft mouth that sucked them reverently.

Mycroft could see the way Anthea now purposefully slid her finger in and out of the reddish lips that bore the traces of her lipstick, and he could only imagine her mirroring the movement with her other hand between her legs.

"Playing Big Brother again. Mycroft?" asked Sherlock, who was now standing in the door. "Whatever you're watching must be entrancing to make you forget dessert like that.”

"How long have you been standing there?"

But Sherlock didn't answer him. "Where is your assistant, by the way?"

Mycroft stole a glance at the screen. "Oh, she's out eating lunch.”


End file.
